Conquer
by quickandevery
Summary: Elsa knows the taste of failure.


She supposes that there is something gratifying about it in a misguided sort of way. It occurs so often that it has become all she knows. There is nothing new, nothing unexpected. She knows the routines. She knows the practices. They do not make anything better, but to know them is to proceed as intended. She has never known anything different.

Mistakes are common. The control is tenuous. She knows this and cannot bring herself to wallow in what is unchangeable. There are many things that she _knows_, but very little that she understands. Once, Father had believed that she ought to strive for more, for the purpose that had always wilted. She had wanted the same, but such wishful thinking was discouraged over time. Sad, perhaps, but undoubtedly true.

* * *

What does freedom bring? She is unsure, though girlish thoughts form in her head that she suppresses with a gloved hand and a drizzle of snowflakes. She dislikes how it was earned. The freedom, that is. The risk had been too great; she was lucky to have gotten what she had. An unscathed sister, though not without great sacrifice.

She still agonizes over it. She expects that she always will.

Anna is forgiving in all things. She thinks hard, delving deep. She is undeserving of her sister's affection, though she is all the more greedy for it. It gnaws at her at night. She holds Anna's trembling form in her arms and hushes away nightmares. Her hands – the same ones capable of such devastation – brush away coppery locks under the guise of protection, but she feels more and it is as terrible as it is thrilling.

She resolves not to hold Anna so closely.

* * *

She finds solace in creation. Something within her recoils whenever sparks of magic arc into the air, but it is easy to repress, or so she says. She smiles for Anna because it feels right. It balms the wound she had cut into her sister's heart, but not her own. She will never reveal her hesitation, because the joy that emerges upon Anna's face is so tender that it drums a staccato beat in her chest.

She memorizes the expression. She memorizes all of them.

She creates. The magic is easy to manipulate when it is willingly summoned. She had learned this long ago, but it feels nice to rediscover. She bites back the terror swimming in her throat and at the backs of her knees and _creates_. The ice is so beautiful in the sunlight. It glints in a way not unlike when it is jagged and menacing. She knows that feeling and finds it easy to succumb to, but does not. Anna watches on, breathless, and she finds the strength to savor magic born of wonder instead of fear.

Anna meets her gaze with eyes nearly blackened by shadows and delight.

"It's beautiful," Anna says.

She cannot hide her smile.

_As are you, dear sister._

* * *

The openness brings trepidation. Her past anxieties do not vanish as Anna expects. She can tell that her sister is troubled by this; Anna is neither patient nor complacent regarding the suffering of others. She feels unworthy of such passionate thoughts directed at her, as is natural. She shields herself behind downcast eyes and closed doors.

She has never been able to properly voice her feelings clearly. Anna does not understand this and prods just enough to annoy her, but she does not show it. The magic boils in her blood. It has become almost corporal, as if it were truly a part of her. It did not take well to being so readily accepted and shunned. She grows uneasy when she can no longer steal away to create. It is an outlet she covets, but it is not without Anna. To do so without her sister would be scandalous. It is a time that they share. What right did she have to refuse Anna when that has all she has ever done?

* * *

Anna spends more and more time with the Ice Harvester, Kristoff. She knows that it is jealousy that races through her body, even if she is loathe to admit it. She buries herself in paperwork and hopes that it will be enough to distract her from her own poisonous thoughts. It is childish and it is unfair to her own self, but she does it anyway. It is not the first time she has had to waive her desires for another. Anna deserves happiness, she thinks. It is foolish for her to assume she is capable of giving Anna all that she craves. She is no different than the drafty castle she was born in: pleasant in the first once over, but nothing exciting. Kristoff hints at adventure and the discovery of new things, not the unchanging pictures on the walls.

All she wants is to see her sister happy. Whether or not it includes herself is irrelevant.

* * *

She bathes in parchment and wax. Her hands tire easily and not even the magic at her fingertips is strong enough to wet paper. She has not spoken to Anna in a fortnight. She misses her. She curls up in her bed at night and wonders at her tears because they are warm. Crying does nothing to appease the ache in her bones but it is cathartic.

Anna returns when she dozes. Her sister smells suspiciously of reindeer and wood, but she cannot bring herself to care. Anna snuggles up to her readily. She sees the tears before she feels them. Anna touches them reverently, as if tears were foreign to her.

"Why?" Anna asks, looking up at her with wide eyes. She can see the pain there easily. Her heart gives an indignant throb.

"I missed you," she says, though it is an understatement. She feels a hysterical laugh urging its way up and settling in her mouth. Anna brings herself closer. She finds that she cannot swallow down the lump that had lodged into her throat. Anna is close enough that her vision blurs.

"I'm sorry," Anna says, distraught. She is suddenly engulfed by strong arms and a clumsy mouth pressing to her cheek. "I didn't know, Elsa. _I'm so sorry._"

* * *

She indulges in creation once more. She did not realize how much she would miss it, but as magic hisses from her pores and manifests into unreal architecture, she smiles. Anna watches on, cupping at her jaw and sighing. She thinks it to be admiration for what she has made, but her sister's eyes do not trail along the length of perfect ice. No, they linger on pale skin and places that ought not to be admired by siblings.

She takes a step back, clasping her glove-less hands in front of herself. She draws Anna's eyes to hers and smiles because she can. She finds relief in teal eyes that never waver from her own. She asks herself how she had ever endured the separation from the woman before her. She feels an itch across her skin that is almost unnatural in its origin. She likes the closeness. Surprisingly and unsurprisingly, she wants Anna closer. Her sister's presence is comforting.

That is what she keeps telling herself. It is comfort, nothing more.

* * *

Anna has unofficially moved into her rooms. She cannot bring herself to complain. The mere notion of such a thing is enough to make her laugh. The servants' eyes shift between the two royals with inquiry. She sends them withering looks.

Anna talks and talks and talks. She listens. She absorbs everything Anna has to say as if she will never hear the voice again. Anna claims that most of what she has to say is trivial, but her elder sister shakes her head in the negative. No. What Anna has to say _matters_. She cannot stress it enough.

She somewhat romantically proclaims, "I will always listen, Anna."

Anna blushes and she finds her eyes drawn toward it. It is a wave of red that simmers behind freckled skin. Her arm extends of its own volition and her fingers splay upon Anna's rosy cheek. She has half a mind to feel mortified, but the warmth that infuses into her chilled digits is enough to give her pause. She does not feel the urge to pull back. She cannot comprehend such a thing. Instead, she drags a thumb along Anna's jawline, feeling bolder and bolder.

"What are you doing?" Anna squeaks, and she wants to laugh at the absurdity of the sound.

She pulls her hand away slowly, looking down at it as if it does not belong to her.

* * *

She sleeps fitfully. Anna's body is hot against hers, and while not altogether unpleasant, it reminds her of blushing skin. She attempts to squirm away from the too-hot skin, but Anna's grip is firm, even in slumber. She resigns herself to her fate. She struggles not to lean her weight too heavily on her sister's slight frame.

Anna murmurs. She sighs.

She wonders why her heart clenches when she observes her sleeping sister. She would like to say it is based upon familial love. Her heart and her mind commiserate but there is no real answer that she can flesh out. She stares down at her sister and all she can feel is a tightness in her chest that does not ebb.

_I love you._

* * *

She retreats to the castle gardens. It is where she usually conjures her magic, but she has not returned here for that purpose. She glares at the sculptures she molded from the last session. She hates them. She had made them for Anna. Always Anna. She clenches her jaw and waves a hand, watching in disgusted fascination as the creations melt and fizzle out of existence.

"I liked those," Anna says from somewhere behind her, though she cannot say she is surprised. She turns, bowing her head momentarily in greeting. Anna's eyes are alight with moisture but she does not tarry there for long.

Anna's footsteps draw closer. She hugs her sister from behind, arms tight against a slim waist that jerks at the contact. "You were awake last night."

She shrugs. It is not the response Anna deserves, but she is not feeling particularly accommodating. She is acting petty and it burns harshly on her skin. She does not reply for fear of choking on a sob.

"Turn around, Elsa. Let me see you."

She obeys.

Anna tips her head to one side, eyes dragging here and there. She shivers under the intense observation, her fingers clenching against her palms, though she has nothing to grab on to. Anna cups those hands in her own. She peers down at them for a long moment, and her elder sister's breath catches in her throat. Anna looks up, giving her hands a comforting squeeze.

Anna rises on tip toes, brushing her mouth against parted lips. Her head is dizzy, goose bumps are lining her skin, and she has never seen Anna look more beautiful than in that moment. Her sister spins away with a smile, bouncing on her feet as she returns to the castle.

In that moment, Elsa knows that she is conquered.


End file.
